


In The House Of Muses

by bofoddity



Category: Pre-Raphaelite Models RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates, Character Study, Gen, Interviews, Introspection, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofoddity/pseuds/bofoddity
Summary: Three models of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood are interviewed about their views on art.





	In The House Of Muses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



__

_Aspirer: Elizabeth Siddal_

Among the beings who reside in The House of Muses, the home to the models of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Elizabeth Siddal perhaps embodies the idea of an artistic muse the best. She is distant, ethereal and fragile, more a piece of art herself than someone made of flesh and blood; she is meant to be immortalized by pen and brush, over and over again. It seems fitting than in addition of inspiring creativity, she is also a creator herself.

One of the most treasured belongings of Miss Siddal is an old scrap of newspaper, which she has put in frames and hung upon the wall of her room in The House of Muses. It contains a poem by Tennyson, who was one of Miss Siddal's first artistic idols.

"Poetry was the first form of art that I loved," she says, combing her fingers through a long, coppery red lock of hair. "It was the first form of art that I wanted to try out myself. It will always be special to me because of that."

It was also a writer, no other than Shakespeare himself, who led Miss Siddal into the world of visual arts. Her first job as an artist's model was for Mr. Walter Deverell, who was working on a piece based on Shakespeare's Twelth Night. As strange as it may seem now, it wasn't because she was so beautiful that she caught the artist's eye.

"He needed a girl who could pass as a boy to portray Viola as Cesario," Miss Siddal remembers. "I was up to the task."

Even now, Miss Siddal remains doubtful of her own beauty.

"Well, I won't question those who are inspired by it," she says. "But to me, it's nothing interesting. To me, painting and poetry are alike in sense that they are about capturing a moment, an emotion. I learned that with Ophelia."

Miss Siddal refers to the famous piece made by Mr. John Millais, in which she portrayed Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Creation of the painting was an ordeal for the model as well as for the artist.

"I would float in a bathtub for hours," Miss Siddal recalls. "Usually, the water would be warmed by lamps, but there was one time when the lamps went out, and the water became icy cold. I said nothing, so we went on, but of course I got sick afterwards."

Why didn't Miss Siddal bring the problem up with the artist?

"Because I had a vision in my head," she says. "Of myself in the tub, of my own pale face and how my limbs had gone stiff with cold, of the way my dress weighed down on me. I thought of how all that must have looked like in the eyes of Mr. Millais, how important it was that he should capture as much of it as he could onto his canvas."

Just as a scrap of newspaper had opened Miss Siddal's eyes to poetry, freezing in the water as Ophelia opened Miss Siddal's eyes to art.

"See," she says, glancing at the drawings and paintings around her, all creations of her own hand, "Ophelia was when I ceased to be just a model. After Ophelia, I thought about each work I posed for from the view of the artist, as if I was working on their paintings and drawings myself. It was only a matter of time until I had to be the artist myself."

__

_Observer: Fanny Eaton_

In the room of Elizabeth Siddal, the shelves are filled with volumes of poetry and plays; in the room of Mrs. Eaton, the shelves are decorated with dried flowers and stones of various colors and sizes, things her children have collected from nature and that her husband has sent to her to remind her of them. No such reminders are necessary, but Mrs. Eaton treasures them nevertheless.

This attitude illustrates Mrs. Eaton's priorities in life: they lie with her family.

"If I have provided for art, I am happy for that," she says. "But that is not my main concern in life."

That is not to say that Mrs. Eaton doesn't care for her craft. When artists set out to capture her fine, carefully sculpted features, she is always sure to represent them to their best advantage, working with the light and the eye of the artist. But as a practical woman, Mrs. Eaton has always been aware of the line that is drawn between her and the artists who are so raptured by her face.

"Please, don't misunderstand me. There are beautiful, absolutely beautiful pictures of me." Her stern look is sure to chase away any doubts about that, but it soon softens and turns contemplative as she glances down at her hands. "But I was never the model they spoke with when they were working. I wasn't asked for my thoughts about their creative work. Those things were for the other women. Not for women like me."

This makes her similar to the other well-known Fanny among the muses of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Miss Fanny Cornforth.

"I do not court scandal like Miss Cornforth does," Mrs. Eaton says, "but in the end, the world of art doesn't want either of us. For my own part, I can say that art has not asked for my heart, so I have not given it." She looks up and forward again. "I feel that's fair."

She does remember the times when the art came close to claiming her, however.

"Miss Boyce was such a loss," she says about Miss Joanna Boyce, the doomed genius among the Pre-Raphaelite masters. "She was working on a painting about Sybil, the prophetess. She made me sit in a profile and told me to simply be." She pauses in reflection. "The paintings that I've been part of have often portrayed a scene; they weren't portraits like this. This also wasn't a pencil study, many of which have been made of me. It was something different, unusual. I remember it for that."

Did Miss Boyce capture the heart of Fanny Eaton?

"I wouldn't go that far," Mrs. Eaton corrects. "But she showed me a new way I could be seen. That I could be seen."

__

_Searcher: Sophy Gray_

Miss Sophy Gray has known art ever since she entered the household of her sister, Miss Effie Gray, at young age, and it did not take long for art to fall in love with her. The feeling has not always been mutual.

"Effie is the one who is passionate about that world, not me," she says, frowning slightly. "I was more swept away by it."

That is one way to describe being caught in the battleground between Effie Gray and her first husband, John Ruskin, as their disastrous marriage fell apart in the most spectacular manner possible. Miss Sophy was torn from place to place, from family to family as her loyalties were fought for, but through it all they belonged to one person and one person alone.

"There was never any doubt about it," Miss Gray says, eyes flashing. "I stand by Effie, always."

She followed her sister into her new marriage with John Millais and eventually entered The House of Muses as her career as an artist's model started. Her room serves as a library to letters she has received from her sister and her husband, as well as from her parents; she used to erode a pen every week from the simple effort of writing back to them.

"I can handle myself better now," she claims.

Yet it's hard not to think about the rumors that Miss Gray was sent away from her sister's home because she grew too close with her husband, Mr. Millais. Miss Gray remains adamant that there is nothing going on between them.

"Everyone went crazy over that portrait," she says, referring to Millais's Portrait of a Girl, which shocked the world of art with its frank sensuality. "As for myself, it made me ask the following: Is that really me? Is my jaw really that prominent? Is my neck really that strange?" She shakes her head, as if the memory of the painting still gives her unwanted chills. "I did like my expression. It was defiant, I had nerve in it. I don't think I'm like that, not really."

Considering the experiences she has gone through and survived, that comes off as an odd thing to say. But Miss Gray insists that it's the truth.

"The truth is, I have no idea what or who I am. I was my sister's ward and now I suppose I'm Mr. Millais's muse. I'm always someone else's someone. I'm never someone of my own." She shrugs. "But who knows? Maybe in this house, among these women, I will finally find myself. Maybe Portrait of the Girl will someday be Portrait of Sophy Gray."


End file.
